Of course.
The day before I’d left, Cammie and I were hanging out in my condo and she’d volunteered to do my toe nail polish. I didn’t even think much of it, but when she was finished and I glanced down, I’d wanted to kill her. She’d taken the liberty to paint my toes bright pink. (Not the worst color in the world.) But then she added letters onto each one of my toes nails so that it spelled out: “I <3 J. Biebs!!” Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against Justin Bieber, but I’d have gone with Jamie Dornan or David Beckham. I mean, c’mon.
I hadn’t removed the message because the pizza we’d ordered had arrived soon after and I got distracted. Shoving pepperoni pizza in my face ranks above all else.
So, anyway, Jason was staring at my toes, and I was blushing hard at the fact that he now thought I wanted to do a fourteen-year-old kid. When he finally glanced back up to my face, he was wearing a small smile.
“I took you for a One Direction girl,” he said, his smile widening even more.
“Yeah, yeah, my sister did it as a joke,” I explained, knowing he probably wouldn’t believe the true story anyway.
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” he said with a smug grin.
I rolled my eyes. “Did you need something?” I asked, my tone conveying how annoyed I was with him.
“We have a song to write and I’m sick of being in this house. Let’s go up to a coffee shop in town.”
I pursed my lips in thought. In LA I would have never been able to write at a coffee shop. There would have been paparazzi with their lens pressed to the windows and curious fans interrupting me at every moment. I loved my fans, but sometimes it became too much of a good thing.
“No one will recognize you there, princess,” he said as if reading my thoughts. “Be ready in ten minutes.”
He turned on his heels and I watched him walk toward the stairs in sweaty workout clothes. He must have just gone for a run. (I didn’t want to check him out as he walked away, but I was powerless to help it.)
I would have protested to his demands, but the thought of going into town was too enticing. I’d seen a bit of the town square when Derek has driven me to the ranch, but I wanted to see it during the daytime when people were out and about. Once I’d thrown on my outfit, brushed my teeth, thrown my hair into a ponytail and applied a bit of make-up, I had a minute to spare, so I shot Cammie a death-text.
Brooklyn: Jason just saw my Justin Beiber toe nails. You are dead to me. And are henceforth excommunicated.
Cammie: You’ll be back. You alllwaayyysss come back.
“Brooklyn, let’s go!” Jason yelled from the bottom floor.
“Okay, I’m coming, Mr. Bossypants!” I said, dropping my phone into my cross-body bag and trotting downstairs. LuAnne was standing next to Jason with a little smile.
“Morning, Brooklyn. You look adorable in that get-up,” she said as I stepped forward to kiss her cheek.
“Thanks, Lu,” I replied with a smile. “Tell me, does Jason always have his panties in a wad or is that just around me?”
Jason crossed his arms, but Lu threw her head back and laughed, clearly enjoying my sauciness.
“I can’t believe that label of yours thought a duet with you two would be a good idea. They clearly haven’t seen you two together before.”
I grunted, “Oh, they saw us together all right. I don’t think they cared much though.”
Jason shook his head and walked toward the front door, brushing past me so that our arms touched. The static electricity jumped between us, zapping me enough to make me take a hesitant step back. Don’t even go there. He zapped you because it’s cold. Don’t read into it, weirdo.
“I’ll be in the car,” he said, leaving the front door open behind him.
LuAnne met my gaze and I could see a little glow of mischief in her eyes. I knew she could see past Jason’s exterior, but she wasn’t going to help me out. I was all on my own. Team Brooklyn is currently accepting new members. The only requirement is that you also loathe Jason Monroe.
With a sigh, I headed out the front door and reluctantly climbed into the passenger side of Jason’s Jeep Wrangler. To his credit, he’d opened the door for me. Well, okay, it was cracked open a few inches, probably by accident. That counted, right?
Jason kept the radio off the entire way to the coffee shop in Big Timber, but not because he wanted to chat. We sat next to one another in complete silence as I watched his hand on the gear shifter. I pretended I was looking at my nails, but in actuality I was taking the opportunity to study him. His fingers were long and callused from years of working guitar strings. There was a scar that ran from the knuckle of his thumb down to his wrist. The paleness of it stuck out in comparison to his tan skin.